Broken Tombs and Barstools
by Buridanical State
Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past, but will it continue to haunt him?


**Author's Notes: This fic is rated T for alcohol, adult conversation, and just a few choice words. It was written for a Bullying prompt on Criminal Minds Weekly Prompts forum. My chosen character is the wonderful Dr. Reid. **

**Read, enjoy, and if you feel up to it, review. **

**** I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its associated characters. ****

Broken Tombs and Barstools

This wasn't the way he thought it would be. For so many years, he had dreaded this day, avoided it like The Plague. He didn't need reminders of his less-than-perfect high school experience. He really didn't. He didn't _need_ reminders of anything. Every taunt, every kick, every politely whispered insult from the more merciful of his 'peers' was as fresh today as it was 18 years ago. Like an amputee who could still feel the weight of a missing limb, he could never quite convince himself that the pain wasn't there.

_The advantages of an eidetic memory._

So when the bleach blonde on the barstool next to him all but threw her thoroughly rifled purse onto the bar and turned to ask if he had a light, he recognized her immediately. It took so much of his concentration not to rub soothingly at the rope burn that was surely forming on his arms that she had to repeat the question twice before he could form an intelligent response.

"I- uh… I don't smoke."

_Well, semi-intelligent, anyway._

She muttered something that he didn't quite catch and rather obnoxiously shouted a request for matches to the bartender who was serving another patron at the far end of the bar.

"Alexa." The man said, setting a book of matches next to the full glass of dark amber liquid and removing the empty one. It was obvious that she had been at this for a while.

"Nick."

"I was hoping you wouldn't be here by the time I started my shift."

She took a long drag and blew the smoke out in a long exhale.

"Now is that any way to speak to a paying customer? Are you saying that you didn't miss me?"

He snorted.

"How could I? I see you more than I see my kids."

"That's a shame. You should spend more time with the little tykes. Family is everything, you know."

"Yeah. I do know." He folded his arms over his chest. "Do _you_ know that, Alexa?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer could see that the newest glass was half gone already.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Where are your kids, Alexa? You do remember them, don't you? And don't tell me they're with John, because I know better."

Her posture became defensive, and her voice held an edge that it didn't have moments before.

"Don't tell me how to raise my children. Your job is to listen to sob stories and pour drinks. Speaking of which…" She rattled the ice cubes at the bottom of the glass.

"And your kids are… ?" Apparently, he wasn't willing to drop the issue.

"At home with Teresa. They're fine. And so am I, by the way. Thanks for asking."

"It's not in my job description to ask, remember?"

"Ha-Ha. Hilaaaarious, Nick. Really funny. Are you gonna get me that drink or what?"

He regarded her for a moment before sighing heavily.

"One more," he said firmly, holding up a finger. "That's it, Alexa. You'll have to go someplace else after that. Preferably home."

"One more. Thanks, Nick. You're a sweetheart." She smiled sweetly at the man before he walked away to fill her drink order. As soon as he was out of earshot, she mumbled, "Asshole. The help should be seen and not heard."

Now that was the Alexa that Spencer knew. Sitting beside him was the same vindictive, two-faced, narcissistic social climber that he had known when he was 12. Some things never changed. He briefly wondered why he was still sitting here. Here in a dark bar a good eight miles away from the Las Vegas hotel where the rest of his team was most likely asleep. _Maybe not Prentiss. Then again, she probably learned her lesson the first time around. _He laughed softy at the memory.

"You gonna let me in on the joke?" Alexa's amused voice cut through his thoughts. Her voice had changed a little over the years, roughened slightly by prolonged alcohol and tobacco use, but it was still so very recognizable. It had been 18 years and he still hated that voice.

"I was just remembering the last time I was in Las Vegas."

"Oh." She turned in her seat, giving him a once-over. "Are you from out of town, then?"

"Yeah…" he said, tucking an errant strand behind his ear. "I uh-grew up around here, but I live back East now_."_

She smiled that same deceptively sweet smile.

"So where is home now?"

"D.C.," he responded after a beat.

"You're not a politician, are you?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"No. I'm not. Why do you ask?"

"Doesn't really matter," she mumbled distractedly, "Men are all politicians in the end." She turned away for a moment, and Spencer noticed the stark contrast of a pale band against her otherwise tanned skin. Until very recently, she had worn a ring on that finger.

_That would explain why she's stress testing her liver._

"Well anyway, I'm Alexa," she announced, extending a hand demurely. Spencer stared at it like she was offering him arsenic.

"I don't bite," she said teasingly, hand still extended.

_Good thing- I haven't had all my shots._

He took the proffered hand as politely as he could manage.

"And you are?" she prompted.

She was three sheets to the wind and hadn't recognized him yet, but he wasn't about to push his luck.

"Reid."

"Reed? First or last name?"

_Shit._

"Last."

_Reduced to monosyllables. Maybe later I can learn to use tools and discover fire._

"Okay. Let's try this again," she laughed, genuinely amused. "My name is Alexa Par- um.." She stammered and cleared her throat. "Alexa Lisbon. This is where you say 'It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is…'"

"_Doctor _Reid. It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Lisbon."

Her body language was showing a definite sexual interest. Of course it was. He had just told the drunk, lonely, recently divorced social climber that there was a title attached to his name. _Lovely. _This night just kept getting better.

"Cute _and _funny. The pleasure is all mine _Doctor _Reed."

"Okay Alexa. Last one's on the house."

She turned back to the bartender and took up the glass.

"Awww. Thanks, Nick. You really are the best, you know that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know." Then he walked away.

"So what brings you to Vegas, Dr. Reed?"

_Six dead prostitutes with various missing organs._

"Work."

"You're not very talkative, are you? That's okay. Is there a Mrs. Doctor Reed back in D.C.?"

_Lie! Please just tell her that you're married._

"No. I'm uh… not married."

Her eyes seemed to light up a bit at the news.

_Why didn't you lie?_

"Don't tell me you're just stringing the poor girl along."

"There is no 'poor girl'. Luckily," he added, hoping she would get the hint.

"Well," she spoke confidentially, leaning in close, "that's good news for me, isn't it?"

If he hated her voice, he _detested _her laugh. It was a laugh that had haunted his dreams for years.

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Don't be shy, Dr. Reed. I think that you and I could have a… Very. Good. Time together."

She was practically in his lap, and he was overwhelmed by the scent of expensive perfume and cheap scotch. He leaned back uncomfortably.

"Isn't it a little soon to be dating?"

"Who said anything about dating? We're both adults here."

_Please don't spill your drink on me._

"What I meant is: Isn't it too soon for _you _to start um… 'dating'. I mean, considering the fact that the minimum amount of time required to complete the process of a no fault divorce in the state of Nevada is two weeks, and judging by the excessive alcohol consumption in an obvious attempt at self-medication, and the fact that you almost referred to yourself by your married name, I'd say that it hasn't been much longer than that. I say that also because a more drawn-out divorce is typical with longer, more committed marriages. Unless of course there are children or properties involved, which unfortunately there are. Also, I noticed that there's no ring mark on your left ring finger, but there is a definite tan line the width of the average wedding band. This indicates that your wedding ring was worn often but never for long periods at a a time. So the marriage was either fairly rocky or completely for show."

He was about to give the statistics on children of divorced parents with histories of substance abuse who end up in foster care when a choked sob cut off his rambling.

"Ms. Lisbon?"

Tears were running freely down her cheeks, and she seemed too distressed to attempt to stop them.

"Who the hell are you? Did John send you here? He did, didn't he? It's not enough that all of my friends are laughing at me. Now he's paying strangers to do it too." She cried into her hands. He reached out tentatively in an awkward attempt at consoling the woman.

"Alexa, I-"

"Don't touch me!"

She began to sob even harder.

The last thing that Spencer saw before he walked out the door was Nick the bartender hovering near a now passed out Alex with an expression that was both concerned and frustrated. The dark liquor from the tipped over glass was soaking into her bleached blond hair, and he wiped at it with a cloth while trying to wake the woman. He would be trying for some time.

This wasn't the way he'd imagined it would be. The first run-in with one of his worst high school tormentors should have stirred up ghosts that it would take weeks to herd back into their tombs. His first confirmation that one of the people who made his childhood miserable was paying the Karmic debt should have made him, if not smug, a bit happier with the state of balance in the universe. Perhaps he should have even felt pity.

But standing there, looking at that scene that would automatically imprint itself on his memory forever, he felt none of these things. What he felt was worse than all of them combined: He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. And nothing could have prepared him for that.

**End**

**Comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome.**


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